


Healer

by Bourdieflies



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Healer, Other, Wound Cleaning, one or two mentions of God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bourdieflies/pseuds/Bourdieflies
Summary: Arno visits his favorite healer. You can't say you're surprised to see him.
Relationships: Arno Dorian/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Healer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If you recognize this, I used to write Assassins Creed Preferences on Quotev. This is a work from 2016 that I decided to touch up and expand! It was 400 words when I started, and now it's actually well put together! 
> 
> Also, there are brief mentions of religion in this piece. I tried to do a little research on medicine in France during the Revolution and I found they mostly relied on prayer, so I made sure to mention that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

You were quietly sitting in your house, reading a chapter in your favorite book. Humming quietly to yourself, you suddenly felt a cold gust of air. Glancing up, you noticed the window was wide open.

"Strange," you muttered, "I thought I closed that." Shrugging, you laid your book down and walked over to the window. Looking out across the buildings, you took note of the rosy red sunset spilling across the sky. Smiling in contentment at the beautiful sight, you pulled the windows closed. You turned around and nearly screamed. A dark hooded figure was laying on your bed. The head of the figure turned. Glaring, you recognized the intruder.

"Arno, what are you doing here?!" You said in exasperation, marching towards him. You then noticed how tired and worn-out he looked. Tilting your head, your eyes softened.

"Are you okay?" His response was a harsh coughing fit. Frowning, you walk over to him. His face was pale, paler than usual. Setting your hand onto his forehead, you flick it away.

"You're burning up," you mutter. Turning away, you leave in search of a bucket of water. Pouring into a small pan, you set it on the fire to warm up. After, you returned to find Arno trying to take off his jacket.

"Too hot," he murmured as you walked over. Sighing, you relieved him of the constricting piece of clothing. Your eyes widen in shock at his hiss of pain. His once white shirt was darkened with blood. 

Running off, you hoist the bucket up and carry it into the bedroom. Knowing it would be better to wet his shirt first, you tear off a piece of your dress and drench it in hot water. Your hand was bright red by the time you pulled the cloth out. Carefully, you wring the cloth out over Arno’s upper body, water droplets spreading across his chest and shoulders. Once it was wet enough to peel it away from his skin, you slowly unbutton his shirt and take it off of him. 

An angry red slash traveled from his right shoulder to his left peck. Whoever tried to kill Arno could have very easily killed him, but Arno was lucky. The injury wasn't very deep, but it was on its way to becoming infected.

“You are a lucky man, ” you muttered. A soft chuckle emitted from the man in question. 

First, you cleaned the wound. Then, moving away from the bed, you hurry into your makeshift kitchen. Moving here and there, you collect everything you need for a poultice. You needed to clean the wound and draw out anything that may be harmful. Throwing together the mixture of herbs, clay, and moss, you walk back into the bedroom. Arno had already fallen asleep. He let out a soft grunt as you applied the cold poultice to his wound. You would need to change the moss in a few hours but for now, it needed to be left uncovered. 

He truly was lucky. 

Finishing up, you reached for a small cloth laying next to the bed to wipe your hands off. Your eyes traveled back to the man and you sat on the small stool next to the bed to watch him as he slept. 

His face was still pale, but he wasn’t close to death. His eyes flickered behind his eyelids, clearly dreaming. They were restless, his fingers twitching every now and then. You haven’t known this man for long, only interacting with him when he was in a state of bleeding and brokenness, but you knew when people were not just in physical pain. 

When you had met this man, he was in a similar state of misfortune. His back had been shredded. He was close to death when you found him on the balcony across from your apartment. You had called out for him and he had pierced you with those eyes. Ever since then, he would fall into your apartment and bleed all over your floor. Men. 

He was lucky that he had landed near your home that first night. 

Your mother had been a nurse, but one who actually cared for the body. Many nurses only believed in praying to chase the infection away. You did believe that God could help some. But for the ones who were too badly cut, they needed a living being to stitch them up. Then, they could be prayed over. So she had taught you the ways of needles and threads, poultices and tinctures. 

You have saved many lives in your small town. You were lucky the townspeople never spoke your name, or you knew that the soldiers would find you. 

You had to be careful, for the ones that would come to you were the ones that soldiers wanted to kill. The ones that revoluted more and more against the soldiers were the same ones that would knock at your door. 

You should be afraid of the injured men and the soldiers, but the state of the men that filtered in would be as broken and battered as Arno. As for the soldiers, the day they found your home would be the day you would run, run as far away as you could. Thankfully, your father had taught you the ways to use a knife so you could handle your own. Maybe not as well as the man that lay in your bed, but you had never needed to run to someone’s apartment at midnight to be stitched up. 

As you watched him sleep, you started thinking, thinking too hard. Out of this small town, this man came to your door. You often wondered why he would come back to you. You knew there were other healers, in towns much closer to more action. Your small town wasn’t at the center of a revolution. No, far from it. You didn’t know exactly what Arno did, but you knew he had a good heart, one that you wished would beat for you…

Shaking your head, you scoffed. You knew you were a talented healer, so maybe that is why he would travel this far for something easy for someone to repair. That was why he would risk infection. He would rather be sown up by someone who could ensure improvement. Yeah, that’s what you were going to believe, and not overthink the handsome man lying unconscious on your bed. 

An hour passed as you sat and watched over the man as he dreamt. Finally, exhaustion took over. You should probably change the moss once more before you drifted off, but you shook your head. He would be fine, he is strong. You decided to sleep on top of the armchair outside of the bedroom. You would not sleep next to the handsome man. 

As you curled up, your mind focused on Arno and you soon drifted off to sleep. 

It felt like ten minutes before light filtered in through the drapes and the sounds of the town waking up stirred you. Yawning, you stretched out like a cat. The awkward sleeping position forced you to twist and crack your back, forcing a sound of relief to escape your mouth. 

A few moments later, you padded into the bedroom with bandages and another bucket of water. 

“Good morning (Y/N),” a voice croaked from the bed. Looking up from the water you carried, you met his eyes. They shined with relief, trust. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked as you set the water down on the stool. 

“I’m not dead, which is good.” You hummed in response as you begin working on cleaning the wound once more. Grabbing hold of the poultice, you set it next to you on the bedside table. Next, you took a clean cloth and dunked it into the hot water. Once again, you waited until your hand was red as blood, and pulled the soaked material out. Wincing at the heat, Arno grit his teeth as you began to wipe off the remainder of the poultice, and the coagulated blood that had collected there. 

The wound was still angry, but there was no sign of infection. First, you forced Arno into a slightly upright position. You ignored the grumbling and started dressing the wound. 

As you ran your fingers back and forth, wrapping the bandages around and around, you noticed Arno’s eyes never left your face. Glancing up, you met the man’s full stare. As your hands left his chest, the air between you seemed to stop. Electricity tickled your skin as his dark brown eyes bore holes into you. You could barely breathe as one of his hands came to rest upon your cheek. 

“Arno…” you whispered. His other hand came to rest on your hip. The warmth from his hands spread through your body. 

His thumb stroked your cheek for a moment, his eyes searching yours. He was looking for anger, for refusal, but all he received was admiration, and maybe something deeper. 

You met him halfway, lips connecting and breaths intertwining. His hand on your hip migrated to your back and pulled you closer, almost pulling you directly on top of him. Settling on your hands and knees above him, your lips never left his. 

You were one for a moment. 

The feeling of his rough lips against yours drove you crazy. His hand on your back rubbed and massaged. You wished his hands would move farther south. You wished you could push him further, but you knew his wound would not allow for any...activities. 

From the look in his eyes, he was thinking the same thing. As you pulled away, Arno made a sad sound, which twisted into a painful groan. Frowning, you glanced at his wound. No red leaked out, which was good, but the numbing herbs must have worn off. You would have to run out later and get more for the man. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Arno looked up at you as you rested his hand on his forehead. He closed his eyes at the feeling. 

You wished you could freeze this moment. This moment of simplicity, this moment of good. You wished that Arno would not run back to the fight when he was healed, that he would pick you and stay here. But that wasn’t Arno, that wasn’t possible. He had a plan in his head and he wouldn’t be settling down anytime soon. 

However, you knew that when he decided to leave, he would be back as quickly as he could. Maybe your kiss would be enough to force him back into town sooner.


End file.
